The heavy and bumpy music of After Life grinded in Julie's ears. She had retired from the bar to sit alone in a secluded corner of Omega's center of attraction. She guzzled her shot of Purple Hooter down with a gratifying sigh afterwards. She needed that. It'd been a few weeks since she helped Aria retake Omega back, but to her it felt like yesterday. Every mission did. Perhaps her hard life was finally catching up to her, despite the fact she was on the cusp of her prime.

She could definitely feel it, she thought through a euphoric daze as she watched the asari dancers sway and tilt on their platforms to the music. For all eyes to see, they left nothing to the imagination, with their skin tight, scantily-clad bodies. Still, they were a wonder to watch, and Shepard half-wished she was up there dancing with them. But that was just the alcohol talking.

She shook her head. This wasn't helping. She was supposed to be relaxing, she reprimanded herself, but her insufferable, drunk mind refused to listen and sunk another inch in the gutter. Hell, she thought in defeat, thinking it'd been a while since she'd shared her warmth with another. All this music was making her horny. Asari were pretty, but they weren't for her. The rumors were false. The great commander Shepard was straight as a board.

She giggled at the metaphor then decided it was high time to take her leave and go "take care" of herself, in private.

"Well, well, well. The great commander Shepard. Back for another round?"

Shepard paused. She knew that voice.

Turning around, she found Bray, Aria's second-in-command and what the locals liked to call her personal "lap dog." But Shepard knew he was more than that from personal experience. They'd teamed up to infiltrate Omega, shared firepower, sweat, and blood together. This was probably the only living, breathing Batarian in the entire galaxy who didn't greet her with a gun to the face. And the first one she'd ever seen smile, like he did now. Nothing short of charming what with all the razor sharp teeth housed inside.

"Bray," she acknowledged. "How have you been?"

He snorted at that. "Oh, you know, the usual: head-butting with the Talons, shadowing Aria. But most of the time, just cleaning my shiny new toy."

"Is that it you're carrying now?" Shepard asked, gesturing to the intimidating canon cradled in his grip.

"Hhmm," he said, handing it to her. "Nice, little number right there, and sure as hell packs quite a punch. My…recompense from Aria, you could say."

While Shepard examined the weapon, he lit a cigarette.

"And a new pack of cigarettes, too," she added, handing him the gun back. "Seriously, Bray, how many of those you've got?"

He chuckled, blowing out a ring. "Plenty to go around, only I don't share."

"Well, good thing I don't smoke then," Shepard teased, fanning the smoke out of her eyes with a suppressed cough.

"I see Aria's settled back in," she said when an uncomfortable silence passed between them. "And she got her couch back." If Bray could have rolled his four eyes, he would have.

"You have no idea how much hell that couch caused me," he said, taking another drag off his cigarette. Before she could raise a question, he cut her short. "Don't ask."

"Damn thing wasn't worth all the trouble putting it back together anyhow," he mumbled. "Had to tow that fuckin thing all the way up here. I'd say it was a heavy ass dreadnaught engine if it weren't for all the cotton. That shit gets everywhere."

Shepard tried not to laugh and instead bit her tongue as an image of Bray covered in cotton flashed in her mind.

"What's so funny?" he asked, when she thought he wasn't looking.

She cleared her throat. "Nothing." Two of his eyebrows rose, saying he didn't believe her.

"It's just hard to imagine you all…fluffy," she said, trying so hard not to smile when she said it.

He eyeballed her, hard. Any other person would have cringed beneath his four-eyed, penetrating stare, but not Commander Shepard. Not after looking a Reaper in the eye and live to tell the tale. She instead received his glare without flinching. Then, as if the thought amused him, he snorted and relaxed, mumbling, "You have no idea."

Oh, I think I do, she thought to herself as she watched him take another hit from his smoke.

Of course, the mention of cotton had her obscure mind reminiscing of sheets and a comfortable bed. Her own on the Normandy beckoned to her, and she would be there now if Bray hadn't stopped to chat with her. He was saying something to her because his lips were moving but she barely understood him, too busy tracing the pecks and plated abs of his armor with her eyes.

"You like what you see?"

Her eyes flew wide open. Now she was in for it, she thought, meeting his multiple gaze. It was hard to tell whether he was peeved or…could it be that he was smirking? One thing she absolutely hated about batarians, besides most of them being galactic assholes, was the fact you couldn't tell what was on their minds, or which eyes to focus on. She couldn't think fast enough to cover up her mistake.

All she could say, when words failed her was, "Uh…I've…I've got to go." She turned sharply with an unintended squelch of her boots, and left Afterlife without a backwards glance. The whole way to the docking bay involved her kicking herself in the ass and swearing she'd never be caught drunk on Omega. Ever. Again.

Her ominitool bleeped just before she arrived at the hangar, and she hoped that it wasn't Aria paging her back. With that fear in mind, she punched in a button and found a new email. Upon accepting it, the message opened its contents to her. A brief one at that.

Meet me in Kima District, Warehouse 84; top floor, number 106.

Bray

Her head jerked up, the realization of the message's contents and what it could possible mean turning in her head. All she could was…

I'm fucked!